


Five Times Tim Tebow Almost Made Urban Meyer Smile (And the One Time He Actually Did)

by ViolentGlitter



Category: College Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Florida Gators, Gators, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 12:59:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentGlitter/pseuds/ViolentGlitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What the title says. :) A reflection of a few times through the years that Tim Tebow ~almost~ made Coach Meyer smile--and the one time he actually did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Tim Tebow Almost Made Urban Meyer Smile (And the One Time He Actually Did)

**Five Times Tim Tebow Almost Made Urban Meyer Smile**  
 **(And the One Time He Actually Did)**  
  
 **I.** The first day before his very first practice, the new starting quarterback strode purposefully into Urban’s office, without qualms or ceremony, and plunked down on the edge of his desk without saying a word.  
  
Urban raised an eyebrow and didn’t bother lifting his eyes from the seemingly endless pile of paperwork in front of him. If the kid had something to say, he’d speak up and say it. He never did, though, and after a couple of beats passed in heavy silence, Urban felt his eyebrow arch the slightest few millimeters further. Really, now, this was just _silly_.  
  
“Mr. Tebow?” Half exasperated, Urban lifted his gaze at last, only to have it met by the most ridiculously bright cobalt eyes he had ever seen.  
  
“Hey, Coach.”  
  
“What can I do for you?”  
  
“I think the more appropriate question would be, what can _I_ do for _you_?”  
  
“Indeed,” was what Urban said, glancing back down to his paperwork. His attention didn’t stay there long; he found it damned hard to concentrate with Tim’s penetrating stare burning holes into the side of his head. It was downright distracting, and Urban Meyer was not a man who considered himself easily distracted.  
  
“Word on the street is that you don’t smile much,” said Tim, point-blank.  
  
“No, I don’t suppose I do.”  
  
“Consider that my goal, then. I promise you, nobody on this team is going to work harder to put a smile on your face by the end of this season.” With that declaration, Tim clapped Urban on the shoulder and headed for the door, all self-assuredness and gallant confidence. Urban watched him go, an uncharacteristically amused expression working its way onto his features.  
  
Somehow, he didn’t doubt this kid was going to keep that promise.  
  
 **II.** Somewhere along the line--Urban thought it might been the third week, maybe the fourth--Tim had developed a rather unfortunate habit of telling bad jokes. Not bad in a sense of being off-color or raunchy; that wasn’t Tim’s style. What was his style, apparently, was telling jokes that were the very definition of cheesy, jokes that would have made a third grader sigh and shake his head. For whatever reason, Tim now made it part of his routine to stop by Urban’s office at least once a day and subject him to these fascinating attempts at humor.  
  
The riddle of that particular day was, “Why can’t you play a joke on a snake?” This was the inquiry Tim posed with an all-too-entertained expression playing over features that Urban had more than once considered attractive before he could think better of himself. The kid was cute. That, in and of itself, was a _problem_.  
  
“Tim, I have no earthly idea,” was his subdued response. “But I know you’re going to tell me anyway.”  
  
Tim let a moment pass purely for dramatic effect-- _wait for iiiiit_ \--before delivering the punch line.  
  
“Because you can’t pull their legs.”  
  
Urban groaned.  
  
“Oh, good grief, Tim,” he said, leveling a long-suffering look at Tim. “You know, that was almost as good as the one about the orange and the banana.”  
  
“Orange you glad I didn’t tell that one again?”  
  
“Please. Stop. You’re killing me.”  
  
Later on, Tim would swear that he saw the barest shadow of a smile playing on Urban’s lips then. Urban would always deny it, chalking it up to a completely incidental facial twitch that looked like the beginnings of a smirk that never quite made it all the way.  
  
Tim never did believe him.  
  
 **III.** Out of the four Heisman contenders, Tim’s name was the one that had been called.  
  
Nobody seemed more surprised by the news than Tim himself. As applause filled the New York City auditorium, Tim rose from his seat, hugged the other three finalists and made a beeline through the audience toward Pam and Bob, sitting directly in front of Urban.  
  
After receiving congratulatory embraces from both his parents, Tim sought out Urban, squeezing around his mother to get to him. Their gazes locked and held for the most fleeting of moments before Tim locked both arms around Urban’s waist, pulling their bodies together so tightly, he almost couldn’t breathe.  
  
There were so many words poised on the tip of his tongue at that moment, so many things Urban would have said had there been enough time. “I am so proud of you right now,” Urban murmured into Tim’s shoulder. Tim winked and then he was gone, making his way back to the podium.  
  
He took a couple of deep, steadying breaths and dove headfirst into a speech that would have put any Academy Award winner to shame. He thanked everyone from Jesus to Mama to Percy Harvin, and when Tim finally came to him, Urban couldn’t stop his heart from thudding heavily in his chest.  
  
“Coach Meyer, I just want to thank you so much for giving me this opportunity. Thank you. I love you.”  
  
If Urban Meyer wasn’t smiling then, it was because he was doing his damnedest to keep the tears welling in his eyes at bay.  
  
 **IV.** “That little weasel shit son of a _bitch_.”  
  
Tim was around the corner like a shot, eyes wide, searching for the source of the shouted profanity. He wasn’t disappointed. Upon entering the office, he came upon Urban, standing by his desk with the phone in hand. Judging by the expression on his face, Tim could deduce that Urban was debating whether to slam the receiver down or to yank the entire phone apparatus out of the wall and sling it out the damn window. He opted for the former, as it were. Tim winced and shut the door behind him.  
  
“Urban? What’s going on?”  
  
“I just got a phone call from somebody up at Tennessee. Apparently, Lane Kiffin decided to publicly accuse me of violating recruiting regulations at some breakfast this morning in front of God and everybody.”  
  
Tim’s jaw dropped.  
  
“Recruiting violations? Are you kidding me?”  
  
“I wish I was.” Urban shook his head, scowling.  
  
“He’s been talking junk from the word ‘go,’” said Tim thoughtfully.  
  
“The last time, I just let that slide. Not this, though. I mean, who does this guy think he is? Insinuating that the only way we can land recruits is through illegal means, how _dare_ he.”  
  
“I can see how you would be offended.”  
  
“I don’t _cheat_ , damn it. I don’t _need_ to.”  
  
“What are you going to do?”  
  
“I’m getting on the phone with the NCAA and calling him out on this bullshit. If Lane Kiffin wants to make it his own personal agenda to push me, believe me. I can push right back.” He paced angrily back around his desk toward the phone.  
  
“Oh, by the way, Urban. If you do end up talking to Lane, ask him about the fire at UT.”  
  
Urban paused by the phone, one hand on the receiver.  
  
“There was a fire at UT?”  
  
“At the library. The fire marshal said some of the books hadn’t even been colored in yet.”  
  
Urban let out a sound that was more of a snort than a laugh, as he realized he’d fallen for what was, effectively, one of the oldest jokes in the book.  
  
 **V.** The game had been marked by a cold and miserable autumn rain, heavy torrents that fell and soaked the field through most of the second half. By the end of the fourth quarter, it seemed the deluge was, at last, going to relent.  
  
Urban hardly noticed. The weather, as it were, was the least of his concerns. At the moment, his biggest enemy at hand was the clock. With twenty-five seconds left in the fourth quarter, the Gators trailing by a mere three points and in a position to score, Urban was feeling the pressure.  
  
He paced the sidelines like a caged tiger, his customary frigid-calm façade discarded. Panic rose and swelled and washed over his consciousness like a flood. He had one of two options at this point in the game. He could take the field goal, the safe bet, tie the score and send the game into overtime. Or he could gamble, and take the thirty-five yard touchdown for the win. The outcome would rest solely on which call he made next, and presently, it wasn’t one he was terribly excited about making.  
  
There was one timeout left on the board, and Urban chose to use it.  
  
In the end, Tim convinced him to go for it.  
  
The clock started. Urban paced. His heart raced, pounding mercilessly in his ribcage. Tim took the snap, and that’s when all unholy hell broke loose on the field. Urban watched the entire play go to shit before his very eyes. Tim faltered a moment, dropped back to pass and searched for his receiver. Meanwhile, Riley Cooper, his intended target, had come under heavy fire, and both he and his blocker skidded and went down on the slick grass somewhere near the twenty-yard line.  
  
“Fuck!” Urban screamed, yanked his headset off and spiked it to the ground. This wasn’t going to end well.  
  
There was a flurry of movement from the field. Suddenly, Tim broke from the pocket and darted left, right, spun to narrowly avoid a sack and was _gone_. Urban could feel the sound of his heart hammering in his own ears even over the roar of the crowd, and he held his breath as Tim crossed the twenty-yard line.  
  
Fifteen. Ten. Five. _Touchdown._  
  
As the last second ticked off the clock, the clouds let loose with another downpour.  
  
With his helmet tucked under his arm, Tim jogged over to Urban on the sidelines and threw an arm around him, pulling him close enough to feel the heat of his body though both of them were soaked to the skin by the deluge.  
  
“That was too close,” said Urban, pressing closer to Tim despite himself. “Though, I have to be honest. I could kiss you right now.”  
  
“That’s just the scent of perspiration and victory going to your head, Urban,” Tim’s gaze met Urban‘s, blue eyes flashing mischievously. “I won’t hold you to it. At least, not while we‘re in public.” He winked. “Smile, Coach. You just won the game.”  
  
“This is one game. You’ll see me smile when we go undefeated.”  
  
Tim just laughed and shook his head.  
  
I. Save for the last of the boxes they had returned for, Urban’s office stood empty and bare. Standing in the doorway, Tim couldn’t help but think how strange the sight was. Somehow it only served to hammer home the point that, yes, he was actually going through with this. He was really leaving. Over the course of those last couple of weeks, both Tim and Urban had reconciled with that fact, had come to accept it and deal with it and move forward from it. After all, it was for the best.  
  
Not that the knowledge made things any easier for either of them.  
  
“So, this is it,” Tim mused, hefting a cardboard box under one arm. “No regrets?”  
  
“None at all.” replied Urban distantly. His eyes swept the empty room that had once housed the best of his ambitions, his dreams, his _life_. “Lot of history between these four walls, huh?”  
  
“Yeah, you’re not kidding.” Tim paused a beat before adding, “You know, everything’s going to work out for you, Urban. You’re going to be fine. You’re too stubborn to do anything but persevere.”  
  
Urban knew Tim was right.  
  
After the last of the boxes were deposited safely in the trunk of Urban’s blue Tahoe, the two lingered in the parking lot, staring back at the building. The sun was just starting to sink behind the Swamp, sending long shadows reaching across the asphalt to where they stood.  
  
“This place isn’t going to be the same without you,” Tim’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. He reached for Urban’s hand, fingers interlocking between his so their palms touched.  
  
“Me?” said Urban with a wry smirk. “What about you?” He leaned against Tim, resting his head against his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you so much it’s going to be ridiculous.”  
  
“Hey.” Tim took Urban’s other hand and pulled him gently forward. “You know if you need anything at all, anytime, I‘m not going anywhere.” He freed one of his hands from Urban’s and let one arm wrap around his shoulders. “You‘re crazy if you think you‘re going to get rid of me so easy.”  
  
“I love you.” Urban’s eyes met Tim’s, and he was almost surprised how affected he was by that intense blue-eyed gaze even now. “God, I hope you know that.”  
      
“I do.” Before Urban could as much as utter another word, Tim’s hand came to rest on the back of his neck, pulling him in close. He kissed him warm and lingering, and when they parted, Tim brought his forehead to rest against Urban’s. “I will always be here for you. Always.”  
  
When Urban finally pulled back to look at Tim, his eyes were damp, threatening to brim over with tears.  
  
He was smiling.  
  
 **FIN**  



End file.
